


By The Skin of Your Teeth

by RomanViscera



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, First Meetings, M/M, Slow Burn, more characters added as time goes on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-03-12 14:03:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13548870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RomanViscera/pseuds/RomanViscera
Summary: Through adversity blooms an unlikely friendship, through friendship, a partnership, and through a partnership grows a love surpassing any physical bond.The damaged cowboy couldn't wait for the day he'd finally achieve peace, and the dragon couldn't wait for an end to his nightmare.





	1. Wake Up Call

**Author's Note:**

> A slow burn written just to practice writing. No beta as of right now, so please be patient with writing errors! I will go in and fix them periodically.

It always starts so sweetly in his dreams; his mother kissing his forehead before sending him off to school, his bag heavy with books and supplies, his lunchbox with Clint Eastwood’s brooding face plastered onto the front hanging securely off of a long strap across his chest, a friend’s arm around his shoulder... All very familiar, comforting weights. 

Suddenly, its the police officer’s hand clamping around his arm, ushering him into the back seat of a squad car, telling him not to go inside until the authorities could clean up-- but he had already seen everything. He had already screamed and cried for help loud enough for someone to call the authorities. The weight of all of his belongings in a few bags, heavy in his hands.

Much too heavy for a child.

He wakes with a start, body tensing so hard his back muscles ache, pulled taut from the sudden movement. It’s always like this when he thinks about his childhood. It blooms warmly in his chest; it is pleasant, kind, happy, relaxing-- then it turns sour as he relives his life as he grew up, to her murder, to the loss of his home, to the “families” that tried so hard to take in a troubled child but could not be patient enough to keep him. To his escape from the foster system, into the arms of a gang that would be his new family.

The man reaches for his gun wedged between the mattress and the bedframe, ignoring the burn between his shoulder blades and the pounding in his chest as he checks the cartridge for ammo. Full. His body relaxes slightly as he sits up and listens for things in the dark, hunched over in a fog of anxiety and adrenaline. 

The cowboy breathes in deeply, counts the inhales and exhales, and scans his room silently, watching for movement in the soft light. His room is messy; clothes littering the floor alongside discarded boxes of crackers, wrappers, empty whiskey bottles (all of which he had been meaning to discard) and wads of crumpled paper he didn’t aim quite well. The bed was up against the wall near a window that, in his opinion, had the best damn view of a cement wall anybody could have ever asked for. One could even peek at the water when angled correctly. 

Against the wall, about a foot away from that same window, was a shelf stuffed full of movies ranging in all genres, but mostly consisting of romantic comedies and Westerns. He had a book or two tucked away amongst the rest, but they covered United States history and Mexican-American art. At the top of the shelf, there rests: three full bottles of whiskey, bourbon, and cognac, an array of colorful shot glasses from his travels, movie tickets he’s collected, and mementos from his childhood that somehow survived his whole life. 

After a minute, the silence sets uncomfortably and he shakes his head, shuffling his legs under his blanket to create some sort of noise to bring himself back to the present. The scruffy man sighs and swings his legs over the side of the bed, rising to extend his reach towards the window. He nudges it ajar to let in some fresh air before rummaging in his nightstand drawer for his smokes and a lighter.

Out he pulls an empty carton and chucks it into the trash before digging for a fresh pack. He peels the cellophane off of the cigarillo box and crumples it, pocketing all he needs. Athena had been calling for his attention through his alarm clock, her sensors on his vitals alerting her. “Agent McCree, is everything alright?” His clock reads 5:16 AM.

“Shit,” he mutters, “yeah, sorry Athena. Jus’ had a bad dream.”

“Agent McCree, this has been the third consecutive morning in a row that your vitals have been compromised due to poor sleep. I am creating an appointment with Dr. Zeigler for her morning consultations in less than two hours.”

“Oh-- Naw, Athena. Jus’ been a bad spell lately, it’ll pass soon, I swea-” he is cut off by the appearance of his health record in a holopad and a loud dissonant beep from the speakers installed into his walls. Her voice raises in volume, drowning out his protests as she insists he visit the clinic. Reluctantly, he concedes. 

“Shoot, alright, I’ll go; just don’t wake the whole base up,” he grumbles.

Satisfied with his answer, Athena greets him with her usual tone as he makes his way to the bathroom. McCree is rarely body shy, but something about an AI speaking to him while he tries to relieve himself doesn’t comfort him. He finishes quick to wash his hands and face before shucking his sweatpants off. Athena continues to list off duties for the day-- which McCree selectively listens to-- as he opens and closes drawers in a hunt for fresh clothes. 

“Athena, when's’th last time I did a wash,” he interrupts her.

“Approximately 216 hours and 48 minutes ago, Agent McCree.”

“Thanks.” He does some math in his head, gives up, and presumes that if the math to figure it out is too hard, it's been long enough. He kicks the dirty clothes on the floor into a pile before hefting them all into the laundry basket next to his bookshelf. McCree pauses before he chucks the underwear he was wearing into the bin, settling for going commando while he does his laundry.

McCree packs the cigarettes and the lighter into the side of the hamper and takes it with him to the designated laundry area on the Watchpoint. The cowboy is plenty sure no one would be up at this hour to complain about the smoke.

On his way to the machines, he notices Reinhardt on the tarmac greeting a young woman with long brown hair. He feels the pained exhale she releases when Reinhardt crushes her in an embrace cto his very core, wincing when she does the same back to the larger man, even managing to lift him a few inches off the ground. They both burst into laughter before the older gentleman catches McCree in his sights.

“JESSE,” he booms, “COME MEET MY DEAR FRIEND, BRIGITTE!”

After he receives a scolding for yelling so loud in the morning by his companion, he waves and hollers back at them, promising to do a full introduction after breakfast. “You’ve, uh, caught me with m’ pants down, i’m afraid,” he laughs, pulling the waistband up an inch higher.

“AH,” he yells again, “NOT TO WORRY, MY FRIEND! SHE IS A GROWN WOMAN,” he booms, “AND SINGLE!”

At that, his companion Brigitte elbows him in the side and laughs, showing off a very thick column of muscle covering her bicep; no wonder she’s able to lift a man as large and as heavy as Reinhardt. “Apologies to Miss Brigitte,” he calls, “‘fraid I have a policy against greeting strangers in my underoos.” He winks and tips his hat in greeting regardless and she waves back. 

The scruffy man leans against the railing on the perimeter of the laundry room and takes a drag from his cigarette as he watches the two below continue on with their reunion. His clothes spin, and after a moment, he faces out to the Gibraltar strait, admiring the view as the cargo ships pass by. 

“Jesse,” comes a soft voice from his pocket.

He pulls out his communicator to greet Angela, the time reading 5:41 AM.

“Well, g'mornin’, Ange. What’s got you up so bright and early?”

She chuckles, “as if you didn’t know. I always wake up early-- don’t forget that I want to see you at 7 sharp!”

Jesse sighs, “aw hell, I was hoping you’d ignore that, but what else should I expect from a doctor,” he teases.

Angela laughs and clicks her tongue, “couldn’t keep me away even with a mountain of apples.”

They continue to talk awhile as he smokes and checks on his laundry, finally loading it all in the dryer, the damp clothes an uncomfortable texture against his hands and chest. He bids her farewell over the comm, promises to show, and hangs up, watching the sea as he pulls out another cigarette.

It had been a few months since recall, and the only thing going on around base was the occasional news drone, nosey hikers, and the very seldom arrival of fresh faces. McCree had heard of the arrival of Reinhardt’s friend, but had completely forgotten about it. Most of his old friends were already settled around base, and from what he can recall, Brigette wasn’t a field agent. Brigitte would be a valuable addition to the team, but having a civilian around is going to feel different.

Jesse takes a long slow puff as he sees the sky start to brighten to a brighter blue, wondering if they’ll finally get to see some action. Sure, he loves the peace and quiet, but he was itching for a risky job-- one full of excitement to get his blood pumping. 

The man ruminates on his days back before recall, before the PETRAS act, before Jack and Gabe split. The good ol’ days at Blackwatch. The memory of his mentor soured the scenery, his smoke suddenly tasting stale. He tosses it to the waves and tries to think of something else, but his memories of dead comrades and commanders plagues him longer.

He settles on a memory of meeting Lena for the first time. She was quite excitable then (still is now) and would speak too fast for him to be able to keep up. He’s glad she’s one of the few that returned; happy as a clam he’d get to hear the lilt of her thick accent again.

The buzz of the dryer encourages him to finish his cigarette and think about something safe and mundane. Leave the ghosts of the past where they belong.

\------

Jesse McCree slides into Angela’s office with two mugs of coffee in his hands. She greets him and accepts the caffeine, promising she’ll only do a checkup. The doctor’s office is more of a small scale medbay. Along the wall, charts and diagrams of human and ominc anatomy cover the surfaces. Six fully serviced beds occupy the space under the far wall, complete with the latest in medical equipment. A sterile room with a large glass window is to the far left corner and acts as the watchpoint’s official operating room. 

In the middle of the medbay are two operating tables that currently serve as examination tables. Last but not least, the far right wall features bookshelves filled to capacity with medical books ranging from generalized illnesses, to homeopathic remedies. Her desk sits nestled between two filing cabinets and sports four monitors and a powerful PC amongst piles and piles of medical reports and orders for drugs and equipment.

She sits him down, asks him the usual, implores him to give up smoking, suggests a prescription for a sleeping aid, and recommends stretches for his back to help loosen it up. After he begins to pack up his things, she stops him.

“Jesse,” she starts, tone alerting McCree.

The tone catches him off guard and he quickly swallows his sip of coffee, wary whenever she uses her Doctor Tone with him, “what?”

She softens, placing a firm grip on his shoulder in a motherly way. Angela looks into his eyes and squints, trying to read him while she has him trapped. “Will you _please_ come to me more frequently? You know I worry, and doing the bare minimum on the rare occasion you do show up doesn’t really help me do my job. I know I can’t trust you to take care of yourself,” she scolds.

“I’m fine, Ange, really. Fit as a fiddle, in fact; Just gotta stop sleepin’ on m’ belly ‘n’ start eating more leafy greens is all.” He waves her concern away with his prosthetic hand and quickly downs the rest of his coffee, a sign the Doctor is all too familiar with in Jesse’s behavior. She shrugs and sighs, releasing her prisoner and going back to her usual fussing. Jesse says a quick goodbye to her before making his way to the kitchen to look for some breakfast. 

\-------

He hears the tap and thud of Winston’s gait as the ape shuffles into the kitchen, a broad smile splits his face when he sees him cracking eggs into a pan. “Good morning, Jesse! Have you met Brigitte yet? She should be around here, somewhere. She’s volunteered to help me on base while maintaining Reinhardt’s hammer and armor.”

“Saw her earlier while I was takin’ care of my laundry,” he mentioned, “didn’t get to give her a proper welcome just yet.” He swears to himself as he realizes he put the eggs on the heat without greasing the pan and quickly fixes his mistake, sliding the eggs into a bowl before rummaging around the fridge for the butter.

“That’s a start! Speaking of; I’ve got great news! I know these diplomacy missions and training are hardly your idea of exciting--” he snorts, quickly trying to get to the point before McCree immediately denies the offer, “--but they’ve been doing us a lot of good with the public. We’ve been getting volunteers from all over, including some pretty big names of young celebrities in the entertainment industry, and I was wondering if you could help train them--”

McCree only half listens, occupying his time with his now greased pan with eggs, turning down the heat to keep it from frying at the bottom. The request for him to train the “youths” caught his attention, though. “--Now, hold on there, I ain’t no coach.” After a moment, he turns on the coffee pot and rinses his cold coffee from his mug and sets it aside for a fresh pour, sticking a slice of bread in the toaster.

Winston snorts once more, embarrassed he was shot down so quickly, but not at all surprised. “B-but, Agent McCree-- They asked for you specifically! In fact, they’ll be here any day now. I…” he pauses, rubbing the back of his head, “I may have, uh, _encouraged_ them to join with this particular training as a sort of... pot-sweetener, and I thought that, you know, you might accept,” he trails off, bashful at his presumptuous behavior. McCree stares at him with his mouth agape, exasperation painfully obvious. 

“You jus’... volunteered me? Aw, hell, Winston-- this ain’t a playground for kids, and shootin’ guns isn’t a hobby I’m gonna encourage.” He pauses, “not to mention I am a very busy man and a very wanted criminal. What kinda example is that t’ set for a couple of _chamacos_?”

“B-but, you were in the Deadlock gang for years, you came to Blackwatch when you were only seventeen!”

“Well, I had a rough ‘n’ tumble upbringing, it ain’t the same thing--”

“One’s a war hero, and the other is the leader of a revolution; these aren’t just any kids, they’ve seen active combat!” Winston huffs, nostrils flaring as he works himself up trying to defend these two new heroes. 

 

The gunslinger didn’t have a rebuttal to that… A war hero? A rebel leader? _That_ was unexpected. 

Their exchange carried on for a couple more minutes, ultimately ending with McCree’s denial and Winston’s resolve to give him some time to think about it before asking him again and insisting. He took a moment to contemplate, and Winston took that as an opportunity to just continue on.

“Anyway, Genji is returning soon with his mentor, making that a total of four new young recruits. Well, alongside the hundreds of civilians that are wanting to join.”

“Ol’ Genji’s comin’ back too? Well i’ll be darned. He’ll be a sight for sore-eyes.”

“Yes, they’ll be landing tomorrow,” he starts, “uh, Genji and Zenyatta, that is,” he adds, chuckling.

“Well, color me surprised, didn’t expect him to give up that ol’ meditation gig to come fight again.” He goes back to his egg and turns off the flame, setting it into a plate as the bread pops out of the toaster. A shake of salt and pepper and he’s ready to settle down and eat, wondering what the new recruits will think of Overwatch. 

The volunteer position slips his mind as he thinks about fighting alongside his old friends and smiles around a big bite of eggy toast. If Genji was coming back, then he’d probably be sleeping better too. It never hurt to have an extra gun -- or in this case, sword -- covering your hide.

Winston pulls out a massive plate of fruit from the fridge and sits across from McCree in the mess hall, greeting Lena with an enthusiastic wave. She zips in and chirps her good mornings at the two of them and hunts for her own breakfast, settling for a large cup of decaf coffee and an even larger bowl of sugary cereal. 

“So, loves, what are you both up to,” she sang.

“Well, I was just enjoying my morning until Winston strong-armed me into training some new kids that are gonna be joining us, ” Jesse drawls, eyeballing the ape lazily.

The gorilla perks up at that and nods his head excitedly, “so, you’ll do it?!”

He shrugs in response but quickly aims a finger at him, “I’m thinkin’ about it, but,” he begins.

“...But?”

“But,” he pauses, “you get to do my chores when it’s my week.”

“Okay! I can do that!”

Lena eyes Jesse deviously and smiles as she chews her cereal. “Hmmm….. Never thought you’d be the type to agree to training people. You even denied me when Overwatch and Blackwatch were still in operation!”

“Well, I still haven’t _technically_ agreed, so--”

“Aw, rubbish, you love kids! Anyway, I’ve got some work to do for Angela before noon, so i’ll catch you later!” In a flash, she knocks her bowl of cereal back, drinks deeply, and zips to the sink. A quick wash and she zips off again into the hallway with her coffee, giving both the cowboy and the ape a farewell to then leave them in her dust.

McCree considers the remnants of his breakfast before stretching and depositing everything in the dishwasher. He ambles out, bids good ol’ Winston adieu, and climbs the stairs to his favorite perch on the watchpoint to smoke and watch the ships.


	2. New Recruits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on chapter two! I didn't intend to take over a month to get it to you guys, but I was suddenly presented with a bunch of work that took top priority ): . Next chapter won't take so long to get to you, i promise!
> 
> Chapter is SFW, but the M rating is kept around for future chapters.

A week had passed since he had agreed to help Winston, and the new recruits were already on their way out of the carrier. They must _really_ be famous if Angela was amongst the wide-eyed welcome wagon. 

“So, Ange,” he started, leaning over to the doctor, “one of these kids is a pop-star an’ the other is a… “ he leads, having trouble remembering.

Angela leaned in to his whispering and rolled her eyes, playfully waging her hand at his chest. “Hana Song is a Korean war hero and popular gamer,” she begins, “Lúcio… Correia dos Santos, I believe is his full name, is an international musician and revolutionary leader from Brazil. Very important people that I _thought_ you told me you had read up on,” she teases. Before McCree could start excusing his poor memory, she steps forward to greet the new recruits.

“Woah! You’re tall,” exclaims one, popping her gum.

“Oof, get a look at this dude’s arms! He could probably carry both of us,” exclaims the other, knocking his fist against the lion’s knuckles.

Reinhardt’s laugh rumbles deep in his chest before bursting out. He guffaws and embraces the two young adults and picks them both up, laughing more at their joyful squeals. “WELCOME,” he bellows, putting them back down. 

“W-woah! Easy there, tiger. We need these backs for fighting crime later! I’m Lúcio, by the by. You must be… “ he pauses for a moment, trying to recall the titan’s name, “--Oh, Reinhardt! The big guy!” 

“I’m Hana, nice to meet you, Reinhardt!”

Reinhardt’s face split into an even larger smile, clapping his hands together, already proud of his new teammates for knowing his name. Another embrace is initiated by the large man before Brigitte firmly smacks Reinhardt’s arms to release them, exaggerated choking sounds being laid on thick by the youngsters as they escape his grasp.

“ _Ahem_ ,” Angela begins, “ welcome to the new age of Overwatch; I am Dr. Zeigler. Agent Hana, Agent Lúcio, it is very good to meet you. Lúcio, you’ll be working very closely with me here, so why don’t I show you my lab while you get adjusted to the new timezone. Hana, Reinhardt and Winston will be working directly with you.”

Hana cheers as she bounces to introduce herself to Winston and Brigitte, high-fiving them both. “Agent McCree has generously offered to train you and Agent Lúcio while you prepare for missions. Agent McCree is--” 

“Woah! A _cowboy_? Here? Now?” She bounds up to him and stares him right in the face before looking him over, appraising his outfit. “Kinda cheesy, isn’t it? The look, I mean,” she starts, eyes slingshotting to his revolver. “WOAH,” she exclaims, reaching for his side, “you’re really going all out, huh?”

Jesse sidles away from her, keeping his gun out of her reach. “Now hold on, here. This ain’t no playground for you to be reaching over for other people’s weapons like they’re toys,” he scolds.

Lúcio comes up to him next, offering his hand out for a shake. “You going for an Eastwood kinda look? Killin’ it!” 

McCree raises an eyebrow at him, flattered that he did, in fact, recognize his inspiration despite being around 20 years younger than him. _I suppose anybody_ could _get their hands on an old movie now-a-days_ he muses, nodding approvingly. “You a fan of him,” he asks.

“Nah, not particularly; but I do like to watch old movies. Sometimes it’s nice to watch for practical effects instead of visual effects,” he rambles, “although, I hear practical sets are makin’ a comeback in Hollywood!”

Jesse rubs his chin, considering the musician. “Issat so?” He sees Hana fidget in the corner of his eye. Turning to her, he considers her expression: apologetic and indignant at the same time, cheeks red from being scolded… the proud type. “Y’know, Agent Song…. You can jus’ apologize and move along. I ain’t gonna hold a misstep in your first impression against you, you know.”

The lithe young lady furrows her eyebrows almost immediately, her arms crossing over her chest, attempting to nonchalantly shift her embarrassment away by furiously chewing and popping her gum. “Yeah,” she begins, casual, “I guess you’re right...” a slight pause, “sorry for trying to grab your gun without asking.” 

Lúcio bumps her in the elbow, grinning from ear to ear to help her chill out and forget her poor introduction, a soft tune radiates from his headphones and instantly calms the three of them. Huh, interesting. 

Winston clears his throat, gently tapping closer to their small crowd. “If you hadn’t figured it out already, this is Agent McCree. He will be your mentor and training instructor while you two get used to working with us.” The two of them light up, cheering that the “cool cowboy they heard all about” gets to teach them how to shoot a revolver. Before McCree can question the terms of his and Winston’s agreement, Angela steps in and shows them to their living quarters. A few of Torbjörn’s automatons --really just glorified training bots with arms-- hover forward from their charging stations on the base to pick up their luggage and transfer them to their quarters. 

\-------

It’s really a shame that the rainiest days evoke the most energy he has to spare. Two days have passed since Hana and Lúcio were introduced to them all, and neither of them were enjoying the Spring showers, much like every other stiff-shoed agent on base. He normally doesn’t enjoy being chilled to the bone in the rain, but he has his black trench coat, thick wool socks and jean pants tucked into large rain boots, and a very warm thermal underneath it all. His sweater is a long and tight fitting dark Navajo print, the color worn from years of general use. McCree hunches over as he pulls out a cigarillo with his left hand, and a lighter with the right, using his body and large hat as a shelter for the puny flame that sparks to life. A deep drag with an equally deep exhale releases a puff of smoke into the air, high and low pressure zones from the falling water making it swirl and dance. He watches the tendrils curl and remembers why he loves the rain so much.

“Athena,” he mumbles, lit stick waggling between his lips, “I don’t have a schedule today, do I,” he asks, checking his watch as he sucks in again. 11:43 AM.

“Agent McCree, you have your first training session with recruits Agent Song and Agent Correia Dos Santos at precisely 12:00 PM. 

McCree groans and slumps his shoulders, hoping he had some free time to just amble around in the rain and truly enjoy it. “Well, alright,” he sighs, leaning against a base tower for shelter. “Tell them to meet me in front of the training area.” A pause. “An’ tell ‘em to dress nice and warm.” 

At least he’d have an outlet for all his energy. 

\-------

“Ugh, it’s so cold! Why do we have to train _outside_ , McCree?!”

“Uh, yeah, why do we need to be soaking wet while we train,” asks Lúcio.

The two continue to gripe as he savors the last drag from his cigarillo, mentally steeling himself for some extremely whiny recruits. He gives them a once-over, making sure they’re dressed appropriately for the weather. 

Hana is wearing a bright pink see-thru vinyl rain jacket over a white hoodie with the graphic of a bunny on the chest. Long white ears with pink ovals representing the inner shell hang from the hood. A big messy bun sits high on the crown of her head. Black jeans hug her legs and tuck nicely into heavy looking pink and white furred boots. Lúcio is dressed in a black and olive green waist-length rain coat, a taupe sweater with an abstract graphic sits loosely on his chest over some olive chinos. Big black tactical boots lace tightly around his feet and reach above his ankles, his hair is down in his dreads.

“Now, now,” he begins, “It ain’t always gonna be sunshine and blue skies when y’all go out on your missions. I’d consider myself blessed if I was you, gettin’ a personal lesson with such perfect weather conditions.” At that, both of them groan, Hana loudest of all, as he smiles devilishly. This’ll be fun.

He walks the two of them off of the steps closest to their warmest shelter, and looks over the training bots just idling, waiting for their punishment. “Now, I can already tell neither of you two know a lick about stealth, so that’s our first and hardest lesson in Jesse McCree’s School for Wayward Young Heroes,” he announces, rather proud of the name. Lúcio holds back laughter as Hana rolls her eyes, unpacking a stick of gum before experly flicking it into her mouth and giving a loud open mouthed chew at McCree. _Great start, jackass_ he thinks, mentally berating himself for being so… lame. 

“Ahem,” he coughs, setting his shoulders and straightening, “what can you two little _chamacos_ tell me about stealth?”

Lúcio keeps quiet, not so keen on trying to prove a point, whereas Hana immediately sounds off important factors in good stealth. Hiding, being silent, rescuing the girl and a new addition of “yada, yada.”

Jesse rubs his chin, considering her. “Huh, guess you do know a theory or two. Unfortunately you forgot sneaking and recon-slash-intel, but I’ll give you points for pulling some James Bond shit outta yer ass.” Hana grunts and rolls her eyes, popping her gum.

The cowboy points into the distance, where mist and bad overcast lighting obscure their field of vision. “See over yonder? That right there is how you get the most coverage, having lots of distance between you and your targets, letting nature and man-made cover do your job for you. The less work you do when stealthed is another coin in your pocket, and some change you can use in the future.” He can tell his made-up-euphemism didn’t do well with his audience, so he moves on. He’s lucky these kids don’t have a hook.

He contemplates mentioning Blackwatch to at least give him some credit, but he wasn’t in the mood to answer personal questions today. “Anyway,” he begins, “Your first lesson is to tail me around base and pull this handkerchief,” --he pulls out a wad of fabric out of his pocket, showing the bright red cloth with tiny feathers printed on it-- ” without me noticing you.”

Lúcio and Hana stare at him like he’s stupid, and then stare at each other. “You just… you just want us to grab it?”

“Yep,” he says.

“That… That’s it,” Hana asks.

“Yep,” he repeats

The two young agents give each other a blank look and shrug, charging at McCree.

“Woah!! Now he-- hey! Settle down! This ain’t the lesson!” Hana and Lúcio both reach their hands out, giggling as they try to snatch the handkerchief. McCree desperately dips and shimmies away to keep it in his hands. “Woah! Hold on you brats,” he barks, laughing at their enthusiasm, “gimmie a-- Hey! At least gimmie a chance to-- aw hell, fuck it.”

After a few seconds more, he ducks and rolls a couple yards away. The three pause and stare at each other. One beat and McCree has dashed away, splashing down the ramp to weave around the training area to lose the two kids. 

Hana and Lúcio yell, and Hana’s competitive nature kicks in. The slender girl hikes her low riding jeans up and dashes after their mentor, nearly sliding as she rounds a corner. As Lúcio catches up to her, she slips and lands in a puddle, Korean expletives leaving her mouth, her favorite pants now soaked in the seat. Lúcio helps her up and his head snaps to the right, picking up footsteps. He tugs her along and they run to the sound, stoping at a dead end, confused. 

“Now, I forgot to mention this,” comes a voice from above, “but if you can’t catch me by dinner time, y’all are gettin’ the boot.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” interrupts Lúcio, looking up, “you mean we’re gonna be fired?”

“That is correct-a-mundo, little buddy.”

The two gasp and look horrified, but Hana doesn’t buy it for long. “Hey, that’s a lie! That’s cheating! You can’t just fire us!” Hana recoils when she hears uproarious laughter, finally spotting McCree. How did he get up there so fast?

“Actually,” he drawls, taking his time with his wording, “I have more seniority than anybody on this base besides Torb ‘n’ Rein,” he mentions, “and I am an expert in extraction and intel, not to mention your mentor. What I say goes. If I don’t think you two greenhorns are up to snuff…” he pauses, taking a drag out of a new cigarillo, “well then we’ll just ship you right on back to your regular ol’ lives. Adios, just like that. If I think you could be a liability and get my team killed… Well, I reckon I don’t want you workin’ with any of my subordinates. Capice?”

“But… But that isn’t fair! You can’t do that! What if we run out of time?!”

“Then you fail.” He sucks in another puff of smoke, exhaling. “Athena, when’s dinner?”

“Dinner is being served at 6:15 PM exactly, Agent McCree. It is currently 12:31 PM.”

“Thanks.” The older man inhales once more and chuckles. “Well, then, looks like you’ve only got a few precious hours to catch a wily coyote to prove me wrong, don’t you?”

Hana stares at Lúcio in horror and then swears in Korean some more, grabbing Lúcio by the wrist. “We. Are. Not. Losing.” Lúcio nods quickly and they set off, running towards where they presume a staircase resides.

McCree sighs, confident that they won’t know how to get to him using those stairs, and takes another puff, finishing off this cigarillo. Jesse furrows his brow, rubbing his chin. _Maybe I oughta be less tough on these kids._ The thought is rubbed away roughly by the memories of his mentor, Reyes, and how tough he was on him. On everyone in Blackwatch, but _especially_ him.

 _“You’re mine now,_ mijo, _and you’re gonna act like it. That means you don’t fuck up like the rest of these sorry_ pendejos. _Got it?”_ His voice rings clear through the fog of his memories. His deep laugh echoing in his skull, sweet and dizzying. His chest tightens with anxiety and sorrow as he remembers the face of the long since dead, and shakes himself loose. _“You’re gonna be the best, kid! The damn best!”_

The best. 

Sometimes you need to be a little tough to get the best results, right? These kids don’t know the same type of danger that Overwatch deals with. That Blackwatch dealt with. They’ve experienced active duty, but those were against Omnics, not humans. Humans are a much scarier enemy. 

If they don’t feel desperation and get used to it off the field, how will they act when there is actual danger present? Will they freeze? Will they give up? Will they cry and beg for mercy from people who will not show it? No, he won’t let them. He won’t be as tough as Gabe was, but he won’t be soft either. He can’t afford to let them think this is a game, not when their lives would be on the line during a mission. 

His head races before he hears Hana’s voice ringing from down below. “Ugh, I thought he was right here! Let’s try one more floor up.”

Jesse shakes himself loose again and silently moves to descend the platform hes on, hanging off the side and swinging into the landing before sneaking towards a foggy ladder. The rungs are slick with the humidity, but he clasps his hands down on them tight, shimming down slowly to avoid making too much noise and to keep himself from falling and breaking his legs.

As he sidles against the wall down the stairs, he hears Lúcio this time, groaning and complaining about him not being there either. Jesse stifles a chuff and resumes his descent, sliding behind some boxes and disappearing into the mist, quiet as a ghost. 

They’ll do fine. He’s sure of it.


	3. Hide and Seek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the long wait-- this time it was just regular writers block.   
> Its only a little earlier than last chapter, but I'm working on it!

At about 2:30 PM, he gets an alert to his communicator; an incoming call from Angela.

_Shit._

He swears and fidgets, pacing to help him think up an excuse for the inevitable scolding from the doctor. The receiver buzzes as he picks up, rasping out a hello before his greeting is drowned by a few words loaded with a carefully controlled intensity.

“Jesse,” she begins, “ _why_ did I find our two newest agents sitting soaking wet in the dining hall?”

“Well--”

“If this is one of your practical jokes, you will _not_ be hearing the end of it. Understood?”

“Well, no, Ange, it ain’t a joke.”

“Then what is it? Bullying children is not something condoned on base, I hope you are aware.” He can hear two voices argue the usage of the word “children”, and sighs, checking his pocket for his smokes. Almost soaked through, but dry enough to light.

The man pops his Lucky into his mouth and lights it, dragging the heat in. “Listen, Ange, this is their first lesson, it just so happens that its raining. If they’re old enough to be in battle, they’re old enough to get a little muddy, awright?” He waits for her to protest and she sighs on the other line, hesitating. 

“I know,” she concedes, “but they’re your responsibility, okay?” Her voice softens with resignation and he hears the receiver shuffle, her voice a bit distant as she speaks to the young ones. A couple more drags and she comes back to bid him farewell. “Go easy on them, okay?”

“No-can-do, but good try. See you at dinner,” and the line cuts out. The rain picks up as thunder starts roaring a few miles out into the strait, and McCree steps heavily into the growing puddles, finding a new place to hide.

\------

Angela checks her watch as Jesse hangs up on her. They don’t have a whole lot of time, but it’s better she tends to them now and wastes a few minutes to give them some preventative care. The doctor reaches into a drawer in the mess hall near one of the long tables, and pulls out a pack of dissolvable pills. “Dissolve these under your tongue so you don’t get… _as_ sick, I suppose.”

Hana and Lúcio oblige and take the dose, crunching the tiny sugar coated pills impatiently while Angela watches, visibly aging at their eagerness to get back out on their hunt. The first to pipe up is Lúcio, springing off his chair to stand next to the good doctor.

“So, Doctor Ziegler,” he begins, “is your Clint Eastwood here, uh, serious about kicking us out? ‘Cause like… we really like it here, and would really be bummed out if we had to leave so soon, y’know?”

“Yeah,” adds Hana, “that would be _so_ uncool if we got fired our first week! My patrons would be so pissed I didn’t get to stream some Overwatch combat.” She throws her hands into the air and dramatically lets them fall into her lap for extra emphasis on the ‘uncool-ness’ of termination.

Angela sighs again, “well, he _is_ your mentor, and because he has direct observation on your training and progress, he has authority to pass judgement on whether or not you two are… _qualified_ for the dangerous work agents of Overwatch must rush into at any given moment. You must understand that he does not mean to be cruel… he is just using rather eccentric methods to make absolutely sure you two are fit to train and fight for us.” She smiles, attempting reassurance, and pats Lúcio on the shoulder, gently pushing him towards the exit. “Now, you must hurry! Agent McCree has evaded discovery by law enforcements, gangs and several Overwatch search agents for 10 years before finally joining us once more. You have quite the work cut out for you, and I would hate to waste any more of your time.”

Lúcio and Hana bound towards the doors as the doctor waves goodbye. They turn to each other and share a nervous look. 10 years? How the hell could someone stay hidden for so long?

The gentleman in green tugs Hana’s arm in the direction of their rooms, urging her forward. “Come on, I gotta grab my skates! Who knows, maybe if I’m faster than he is, we’ll have a chance!”

“Yeah, how big can this stupid base be anyway, right?” They finally reach his room and enter, Lúcio immediately diving for a box to root around in.

“A-ha! Found ’em!” The young man slides into his armored leggings and secures them onto his hips, thighs, knees and ankles, the skates clicking into place once everything is fitted correctly.

“Woah! Did you make this?”

“Hell yeah, I did. State-of-the-art technology adjusted and programmed by yours truly! Now, let's pump up the beat and catch a cowboy.”

The two of them race down the hall, Hana taking a second to adjust to the speed boost as they rocket out of the dormitory. She screeches excitedly and sprints after Lúcio, his bright skates leading her. 

As they make their way back to the training area to start back at the top of their search, they inadvertently alert McCree to their locations with the beat of Lúcio’s music. He slinks away as silently as possible to get a better view of his surroundings. As he rounds a corner, he sees them scanning around. Even with the heavy rain, he can still see their brightly colored forms dashing quickly around the tarmac. 

_Note to self_ , he thinks, _do not bring these walking targets on any covert-ops._

The time reads 3:38 PM on his watch. Only a couple hours until their deadline.

McCree straightens himself out and doubles back around the same corner, stepping silently over the catwalk to the roof of the buildings on the left of the entrance, stepping onto a hovering platform to dismount on the other side. He has to make quite a leap, and slips as he lands, the rain slicking the metal roof. _Shit._

“Woah… Did you hear that, Hana?”

“Yeah, it came from up there!”

He curses under his breath as the two of them dash to his location. Hana seems to go straight for the stairs, but Lúcio has a different idea in mind. He doesn’t waste any time looking and recovers, running to the far end of the roof. He hears, not so much sees, Lúcio scale the wall with surprising agility. Before he knows it, Lúcio is hopping onto the wall closest to him and rapidly covering the distance between them. The cowboy swears again under his breath and rolls for the hovering platform. He lands, but loses his footing with the wet and skids off of it, landing on the catwalk below him with a painful thud.

“Oh, crap! Are you alright, man?” Lúcio slides along the walls as nimbly as before and circles around McCree, stopping to help him up. Hana pants, skidding to a stop before helping the larger man up as well.

“Ouch, did you fall from up there,” she asks, checking him for breaks and scapes.

“Yeah, he took a nasty spill-- should we call Doctor Ziegler? Maybe she’ll know what to do.”

Jesse squints his eyes at their naïveté and slowly backs away into the stairwell, making a break for it. He descends and hops through the weight room and side-winds his way away from their indignant yelling, rolling through the doorway back to the main base.

As hey approach, he grins devilishly, slamming the close button on the doors down, watching it shut just before they reach him. 

“Mighty nice of you two to be so sympathetic, but sympathy won’t earn you _any_ mercy from your enemies, and today, _I_ am your enemy. Clever trick with the skates, though. I’ll give you that.”

“Aw, come _on_ McCree,” moans Hana, “we caught you fair and square! Both of us grabbed you to help you up!”

“Sure did, pumpkin. Too bad you didn’t think to grab my little fabric square, huh?” He pulls it out of his pocket, only to shove it back into its home after waving it mockingly through the glass. So close.

“Uh, oh. Better regroup and try ‘n’ catch me again,” he teases, walking to the mess hall.

The two stars share a look and pout, huddling against the door to get out of the rain.

\------

At about 4:30 PM, he reaches his room with a plate of microwaved taquitos. They’re small enough where they won’t spoil his dinner, but will put a dent in his hunger for the time being. He asks Athena to lock his door and alert him if the two kids are down the halls at all, and lays in his bed, checking his social media. Reinhardt convinced him to start using a phone again, so he obliged, and the old man will occasionally send him interesting western-themed recipes or memes. 

He opens a dedicated image-posting app and skims the content, occasionally tapping the little hearts on the images his friends have posted. After about an hour, he scrolls until he sees a screen-capped news headline posted by his favorite liberal news source, and glazes over it. Something about increased gang activity? No thank you. He goes to close the app and stops as his eyes hook onto “international” in the wall of text. International gang crimes… but by who? Curiosity overcomes him as he follows a link to the article, where information on international crime syndicates and arms-dealing captures his attention. 

Quicker than a whip, he shoots up out of his seat and walks out of his room quickly, leaving his snacks half-eaten on his bed. 

He continues, determined, until he walks into Winston’s lab. “Hey, buddy,” he says, approaching, “d’you see this yet?”

The large ape adjusts his glasses and leans in, scanning his phone. After a moment, Winston looks up at Jesse and raises an eyebrow, lips pulling taut with skepticality. “Jesse, for the millionth time, you are _not_ losing your hair.”

“Wh… “ he turns his phone back to face him, scanning the screen. A clickbait article on rapid hair-loss was accidentally tapped in his urgency. “What? Naw, Winston! Wait, let me get it back up on my screen.” With a tap and a second to load, the article is back. He slides an alert from Athena away and presses the device into Winston’s hand, urging him to read it.

“Oh! Yeah, I know. It’s been showing up in Athena’s news scans, th--”

“--you _know_?,” interrupts Jesse, “you didn’t think to tell anybody about this?”

“Well, I spoke to Angela about it, but we both agreed it would be too risky to act just yet. Torbjörn and Reinhardt agreed, too.”

“Oh, so you jus’ went and told everyone but me?”

Winston grunts, placing the phone in one foot to use his hand to hold McCree’s shoulders. “Listen, Jesse. I know you’re ready to go any second, but we need to maintain some sort of public image. We’re under the thumb of the United Nations. Anything out of the ordinary will shut us down, so let me do some research before we start a proposal, okay?” 

“Winston, we are wasting time if you need to sit here and tap at your keys to Google things we already know. Don’t even get me started on all that long-winded bureaucratic horse-shit!”

“Jesse,” he warns, tone serious, “we can’t afford to be reckless when we are at such a weak stage. We simply lack the manpower to make a direct assault on organized crime syndicates. We only just got some new recruits, and you still need to train them!”

The man just snatches his hat off his head, running a gloved hand through his hair.

“Would it make you feel better if we consulted Genji?”

His friend’s name came as a relief to him. Winston pulls McCree along, padding gently to his computer. After a few moments of static, Genji’s voice responds.

“Agent Genji. Winston?”

“Genji! Winston and McCree reporting,” he beams, voice void of any seriousness,”I am sending you a news article through McCree’s phone. Review it and let us know what you think, as soon as possible.”

“Hello Winston, hello Jesse. I will review it soon and get back to you when I am able.”

They bid each other farewell and shut the feed off, waiting in silence. Winston taps to the vending machine in the corner of his lab and hits it with his fist at the top, popping the face open. He pulls out two sodas and trots back, passing one to the tense cowboy. Jesse gratefully accepts and unclenches his jaw, taking a sip.

“He’ll probably get back to us after dinner. C’mon, lets get some food.”

The two of them leave the lab and walk down the corridor, making their way to the mess hall to see Hana and Lúcio sitting casually at one of the long tables, conversing jovially; the two of them look up and smile. McCree checks his pockets and discovers his handkerchief is missing, and smiles, watching Hana mimic his action from earlier, waving it back and forth between them as her tongue sticks out of her mouth. 

As he approaches, Hana extends her arm and offers the fabric square back to its owner, disappearing into the cowboy’s pocket. “Well, I’ll be darned. You didn’t get yourselves kicked out of Overwatch.”

“Hah! As if, cowboy.”

Lúcio slides towards him on his skates, shifting his gravity to pull him to the older gentleman. “You were distracted by your call,” he mentions, quirking an eyebrow, “preeeeetty sloppy for a ‘Master of Stealth’, don’cha think?”

“Hey, now, I ain’t ever said I was a master, alright? Now go on, enjoy your first official night as Agents of Overwatch.”

The two youths share a look and a big grin and cheer, bouncing and scampering around McCree and Winston like two toddlers. Reinhardt, Brigitte, Torbjörn and Angela amble in, speaking to each other amicably as any other night. As Hana and Lúcio rush the crowd with their news, Reinhardt beams at them and picks them up, cradling them in his huge arms for a congratulatory hug on their success. The doctor shoots McCree a look of I-didn’t-approve-of-this before Hana squeezes a laugh out of her. 

\------

At about 6:10 PM, Torbjörn’s dummies putter around to help set the table, a few more exiting the kitchen with Brigitte, Reinhardt, and some massive dishes they prepared. With all the commotion, Jesse hums, cupping his chin as a blissful smile spreads across his face. His mind floods with warm memories as his teammates bustle around to find their seats, Hana tugging at his sleeve to have him sit between her and Lúcio. 

The strange group of people sit as a family to enjoy their meal, friendly and jovial conversation drowning out the sound of the rain hitting the windows as plates are passed, piled high, and set in front of their owners. Hands exchange bread rolls, spices, second servings and wine to pair with the hearty meal of mostly carbs and meats. Brigitte assures the table it's healthy and imperative for muscle gain, Reinhardt confirming with a flex of his massive biceps. Angela questions her skeptically but leaves it good natured, filing away a mental note to organize the grocery shipments herself as she digs into an exceptionally large helping of schnitzel. Greasy food once in a blue moon couldn’t hurt.

Lena zips in, late to the party, and squeezes herself onto the bench to Winston’s right, rapidly shoveling mostly carbohydrates onto her plate. Lúcio politely passes on meat substances and digs into his vegetarian selections, tucking into thick grilled mushrooms and potatoes as the Swedish engineer directs a drone to pass extra napkins around for his messy co-workers. “Y’know,” he starts, “this might be the best thing I’ve had in a dog’s age. Well done Brigitte, Reinhardt. Couldn’t have made even an ounce of what's on this table better m’self!”

Brigitte and Reinhardt smile hugely, slamming their fists against their chests in unison, proud of the compliment from their usual chef. Light, cheerful topics pepper the air, as Brigitte boos at an embellished story being told by her father. 

As the night winds down, little by little the crowd trickles back to their quarters. Now full, Lúcio and Hana’s exhaustion begins to show in their voices. They yawn, wish everyone a good night, and to their rooms to sleep like the dead. Jesse and Lena linger a bit to chat briefly before he is overcome with deep, frequent yawns himself.

“Aw, go on off to bed already, silly! You don’t have to wait up for me! I’m just doing some routine patrols before I hit the sheets m’self!” 

They chuckle and nudge each other, Jesse conceding. “Awright, awright, I’m goin’, I’m goin’. Sheesh, between you and Ange, I wonder _when_ I’ll get away with stayin’ up late.” The man checks his time at barely 8:00 PM and Lena shoots into the now-gentle rain, parka in hand and McCree shrugs; maybe an earlier bedtime ain’t so bad of an idea after all. 

“G’night, love!”

“G’night, Lena, happy trails.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this fic! This is mostly incomplete and the tags and warnings will be updated as I world-build, so please keep an eye on those as we get farther and farther into the adventure!  
> Do not be shy in asking i tag something appropriately/ put a chapter-by-chapter warning in the notes before you start reading.
> 
> Please feel free to ping me on discord: guts#5770  
> or on twitter: https://twitter.com/robokisser !
> 
> Your comments give me endless encouragement, so I am really sorry if I am unable to find the words to respond! I read all of your lovely replies and love to see them!


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